


Pound-per-Pound

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-10
Updated: 2008-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: “I will say this: you picked a hell of a way to prove your point.” Post-episode vignette for ‘Unfinished Business’.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to survivalinstinct.net on April 10, 2008.
> 
> The story’s title refers to a boxing term that describes a fighter’s value in relation to fighters of different weight classes. Is there a deeper, hidden meaning there? Who knows? Maybe I simply got tired of trying to come up with a better title. 
> 
> My usual loving thanks to caz963 for her mad beta skillz.

The hallways were otherwise deserted as they made their way through the ship, the only discernable sounds the steadily diminishing murmur of the crowd they’d left behind, punctuated by the sharp clack of Laura’s heels. She’d dismissed her entourage at the door to the flight deck with an impatient wave of her hand – and to her relief they had complied without question, most likely due to the company she was in. Cottle however, had apparently decided that he would not be taking any orders from her this evening, and was now keeping pace with them, trailing only a few steps behind. She had to admit – if only to herself – that for once, she was thankful for the doctor’s idiosyncratic, pigheaded devotion. 

Bill had yet to make any move to wipe the blood from his face, nor given any outward sign of the pain she knew he must be feeling; she wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t going to be damn sure he let Cottle do something about it.

As they approached the next junction, she took a deep fortifying breath, slowed her steps and drew them both to a stop. Turning her head, she studied the stern set of his profile as he continued to stare resolutely into the distance. “So what’s it going to be, Bill?” 

“I’m fine,” he replied gruffly. Out of the corner of her eye Laura saw Cottle preparing to jump in with some acerbic remark that, while not necessarily unfounded, would do little to convince the other man to submit to their ministrations. She quickly silenced the ornery physician with an economical upward flick of her wrist, a motion that obviously did not go unnoticed by the Admiral. She could feel the muscles of his arm tense beneath her fingers in response, as if readying himself for another bout in the ring.

Smart man. “Bullshit. You have two choices, here. You can go to sickbay and let the Doctor take a look at you, or we can all go to your quarters and have him treat you there. Either way, you’re getting those cuts evaluated and cleaned.”

Grudgingly, he turned his head and met her gaze levelly, with no hint of the anger she’d been expecting. If that hadn’t been enough to convince her she was doing the right thing by pressing him, his unsteady balance as he stood next to her contemplating his options certainly was. Tightening her grip on his arm she drew herself more snugly against his side. “So Admiral, what’s it going to be?” 

“You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“Not really, no. But it’s a choice none the less.”

He said nothing in response; instead she felt the brief, gentle press of his taped hand upon hers where it still rested upon his arm before he resumed their steady pace forward, steering them, to her relief, in the direction of sickbay. 

“Smart man,” Cottle muttered under his breath, and she couldn’t help but smile at his echoing of her own, earlier estimation. When it came down to it, Bill was a soldier – to stand and fight would always be his first instinct. His steadily increasing willingness to accept her counsel was a testament to how far they had come since that first surreal day when the world had shattered around them and they had both found themselves charged with the task of cobbling together what few meager pieces of their civilization remained.

Despite a distinctly rocky start, Laura had come to realize the differences that set she and Bill Adama apart were also the very ones that drew them together, making them a formidable team. She’d come to depend on his counsel in a way with which, as President, she was at times decidedly uncomfortable. More than that, though, she’d come to depend on his companionship – as an equal, a friend, a partner – in a way she was loathe to acknowledge but even more reluctant to forego. 

“I will say this,” she ventured carefully, suddenly all too aware of the silence hanging between them. “You picked a hell of a way to prove your point.” 

She felt the unexpected press of his chest, warm and reassuringly solid against her shoulder, as he leaned more heavily against her and despite the grim expression he wore as he spoke, she found herself feeling reassured by the contact. “It needed to be done.” 

“For them? Or for you?”

“Does it matter?” he replied, and inwardly she cringed at the uncharacteristic resignation she heard in his voice.

“It does to me, yes. You throw a fight in the ring? Okay, fine. But I can’t allow you to let your misguided guilt get in the way of protecting this fleet. New Caprica forced all of us to make terrible, unimaginable choices – choices we’ll get to spend the rest of our days endeavoring to live with. We have you to thank for that.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Fighting to hide her exasperation, she pulled Bill to a stop just outside the hatch leading to sick bay and waited for Cottle to pass by before turning round to face him. “You once told me that you saw every day since the destruction of the Colonies as a gift from me. Well I, along with every other person in this fleet, consider each day since leaving New Caprica to be a gift from you.” 

He stared at her steadily and to her consternation remained silent, his features giving away nothing away. Unwilling to be intimidated she took a step forward, coming close enough to him to feel his heat and to smell the sweat cooling against his skin; and met his eyes unflinchingly. “Don’t you ever forget that, Bill.” 

Eyes never leaving hers, he nodded once, slowly, before stepping back and away from her. “Thank you, Madame President. Doc Cottle can take things from here.”

“Admiral,” she replied stiffly a beat later, struggling to school her expression into something resembling indifference before he’d noticed how disappointed she was by his obvious attempt to put some distance between them. That detachment was, after all, an unavoidable necessity of this life they’d been forced to lead, a reality he’d reminded them of by offering them his words, his blood as testament. She wasn’t about to negate that sacrifice by ignoring its existence – no matter how much it hurt her to do so.

Forcing a smile, she began to make her way back down the corridor towards the hangar deck. Something – she couldn’t say what – made her stop and look back, only to find him watching her intently, the slightest of smiles hinting at the corners of his mouth. Without a hint of self-consciousness for having been caught staring, he dipped his head in grateful acknowledgement, then turned and stepped through the open hatch into sick bay. 

“’Bout Gods damn time,” she heard Cottle grumble from somewhere beyond the doorway; and this time she didn’t try to fight the smile that pulled at her lips. Breathing a sigh of relief, she left the doctor to what she was sure would be a thankless task and resumed her course towards her waiting shuttle.

 

*fin.*


End file.
